


A World of Loveliness

by Ralkana



Series: Xs and Os ~ Kissing Meme and Cuddle Meme Fics [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Growing Old Together, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sappy, Tumblr Memes, happy ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Longfellow said that <em>into each life some rain must fall</em>. That doesn't mean the rain must always be a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World of Loveliness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> This was mostly originally posted over a year ago on tumblr as three different scenes, when "kiss in the rain" was prompted by four different people. Part one is [here](http://ralkana.tumblr.com/post/57035225448/15-c-c), part two is [here](http://ralkana.tumblr.com/post/57487778095/15-kiss-in-the-rain-phil-clint), and part three is [here](http://ralkana.tumblr.com/post/81583694149/phil-clint-15-kiss-in-the-rain). I never got around to writing the final scene until now, and it got much longer than I intended, so I decided to post it all together here.
> 
>  

_I am sure it is a great mistake always to know enough to go in when it rains. One may keep snug and dry by such knowledge, but one misses a world of loveliness. ~ Adeline Knapp_

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

It rains on their wedding day.

It’s a sun shower — the clouds, high and wispy and innocent-looking, suddenly let loose with a ferocious downpour just as Clint vows to bind himself to Phil forever.

Their guests, more guests than Clint would ever have imagined at his wedding — not that he ever really imagined his wedding — shriek and shout, and there is a mad dash for the covered reception tent.

Phil turns to follow, but Clint grips his hands, holds him steady, turns to the officiant.

"Please, finish it!"

She is curled around her papers to protect them, rain dripping down her face and destroying her carefully styled hair.

"By the power vested in me by the state of New York," she says quickly, “I now pronounce you lawfully wed spouses. You may kiss your husband."

The words race through him like fire. _Wed! Husband!_ Clint yanks Phil toward him, throws his arms around him, and kisses the hell out of him.

Phil kisses back, fiercely, curling his fists into Clint’s sodden suit jacket. Clint laughs against his lips as the rain slides down their temples and drips off their noses.

Pulling away finally, Phil rests his forehead against Clint's, grinning in a way Clint has rarely seen. His beautiful eyes are sparkling with joy, and Clint vows silently to do everything he can to keep that look in those eyes for the rest of their lives.

"Should we be worried that the rain as a sign?" Phil asks, and blinks in surprise when Clint nods seriously.

"A fresh start, together. Everything washed clean and new. It’s the best sign we could’ve asked for."

"God, I love you," Phil murmurs, pulling him closer again, and Clint is smiling as his husband’s lips meet his once more.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

They don’t get a real honeymoon — there isn’t time, with the way their jobs go, to take off for weeks at a time. But whenever they can, they take a weekend, and tell both their teams not to call unless the world is ending. Really ending. Not just threatening a little.

Clint is the romantic one in their marriage, the one with the secretly sappy side that leaves notes in Phil’s briefcase and buys just-because-I-thought-of-you gifts wherever he goes. Phil is all practicality.

So it's a surprise when Clint finishes making dinner and goes in search of his husband, only to find him sitting on the front porch steps of their rented cabin, soaked and staring up into the warm summer rain with the cutest little grin on his face.

Clint’s lips curve in response as he pushes open the screen door and pads out to sit beside Phil, shoulders and thighs brushing. Clint wraps an arm around him and pulls him in close, and Phil leans his head on Clint’s shoulder.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Reminiscing," Phil says fondly. He lifts Clint’s left hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his ring. It spends most of its time on a chain around Clint’s neck, but now, during their downtime, it's on his finger where it belongs.

Clint’s heart thumps happily at the sweet gesture, and he brushes his lips against Phil’s temple.

"Hard to believe it’s been a year," Clint murmurs. It feels like no time at all has passed since his last morning as an unmarried man.

"Happiest year of my life," Phil says softly. “I can’t wait to see what’s next."

And with Phil looking at him like that, blue eyes warm and full of love, like Clint is the most precious thing he’s ever been given, his lashes spiked with rain and drops sliding down his nose, what else can Clint be expected to do?

He leans in, capturing Phil’s mouth in a soft, sweet kiss, sighing as he feels Phil smile against his lips. Everything that's come before in his painful, far-from-easy life has been worth it for just a breath of this happiness.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

Clint glances up as Phil sneezes, grinning as he catches his husband's eye.

Hands full, Phil wrinkles his nose adorably and then dips the brush back into the can of stain, swiping it in a wide swath along the surface of their new dining room table.

Five years into their marriage, and they have a newly purchased antique dining table to go in their new dining room in their new house.

Clint looks from the half-finished table Phil is working on to the matching chairs he is staining, around their still-scraggly backyard and back toward the newly-repainted house. Their house. His and Phil's house. He still can't quite believe it, even after signing the mortgage papers that made SHIELD's forty page employment contract look simple.

He knows that, with the work they both do, they'll probably spend hardly any time here, and even less here together, but it's completely worth it for moments like this. Moments when they are working to build their home together, and he can look up and see Phil puttering around in his glasses, wearing faded jeans and a ragged Howling Commandos t-shirt, a hint of a smile curving his lips as he works.

Five years in and he's still completely gone for the man. He can't help his own grin as he focuses again on making sure the stain is spread evenly over the wooden chair back.

He feels a drop on his neck and absently wipes it away, but then there is another, on his nose, and he glances up in alarm.

"Did you -- " he starts, just as Phil looks up, doing a double take at the sky.

"Shit," he says.

They've been so absorbed in their work that they didn't notice the gathering stormclouds. Clint looks up at them in dismay, and then back at Phil. They both glance at the heavy table.

"Garage," they say simultaneously.

It takes several minutes of grunting and swearing to muscle the heavy table into the empty half of their two car garage, next to where Lola is resting, covered and secure.

By the time they dash in and out several more times to retrieve the chairs, the rain has truly arrived, a sudden downpour that the parched, bare ground of the backyard happily soaks up.

They are both laughing as they run back into the garage, the last of the chairs in hand. Clint wipes his wet hair out of his face as Phil rests his hands at the small of his back and arches backward, stretching out the sore muscles.

Grabbing a clean shop towel, Clint quickly wipes down the chairs that saw the worst of the rain. They are as-yet-unstained, and he runs a hand fondly over the back of one of them. The set is beautiful, and he can't wait to see it all stained and waxed and shining, in its proper place. It's a little big, especially for the two of them, but it'll fit in perfectly.

"I'm glad," he says quietly, his voice barely audible under the rain, trailing off as Phil looks up from where he's cleaning his glasses on the hem of his t-shirt. He's clearly curious, but he doesn't push -- he never does.

"I'm glad you talked me into this table, that you didn't let us buy some cheap pressboard do-it-yourself kit and call it good enough. I like this table. It has... character."

Phil grins. "It has history," he says.

His grin falters a little, and there is suddenly a wistful look in his eyes that Clint can't quite interpret. It reminds him of the glances Phil used to send his way before they finally sorted out their ridiculous pining, the ones he used to catch out of the corner of his eye.

Clint scrubs the towel over his head -- he knows how to wait, too. Pretty much his stock in trade.

"That's what I thought when I saw it," Phil says softly, and Clint takes a step closer to hear him. "I mean, it's obviously too big for just the two of us, but... it already has history, and I thought maybe we could give it some more history. Family history."

It dawns on Clint what Phil is hinting at, and he draws a sharp breath, staring wide-eyed at his husband, who looks a little anxious as he folds and refolds another old shop cloth.

Clint can see it now, this table, a comfortable fit in their sunny dining room, toys and books strewn across the surface as Phil sits at one end, a small head bent beside him, that calm voice he loves so much carefully explaining something as he helps with the evening's homework.

Dropping the towel, he grabs Phil, fisting his hands in the waist of the ragged t-shirt and pulling him closer with a stunned laugh.

Phil's eyes light up, sparkling with happiness as he grins into the kiss.

Clint savors the feeling of Phil's lips against his, soft cotton under his fingertips, the sharp scent of wood stain in his nose, and the drumming sound of the rain on the garage roof. This is one of those moments he'll hold close, forever.

There's a lot to discuss, it's true, but just the idea of it, of a home filled with love and children's laughter, the knowledge that Phil wants it, wants it with _him_...

Well, he's always felt that good things happen when it rains.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

The screen door screeches a little as it opens, and Clint absently makes a mental note to get out the WD40 later.

The rhythmic _bounce, bounce, clang_ of the basketball stops below, and Clint glances back toward the house, leaning a bit to get a better view over the railing.

Phil is standing by the back door in a sweater, jeans, and his glasses, Clint's jacket in one hand, and Clint can't help the smile that still curves his lips at the sight of his husband, even after nearly four decades together.

"Nice jump shot," Phil tells Toby, and the boy ducks his head and grins. Toby is taller than Phil now, and Clint's pretty sure he's going to jump straight from the freshman squad to varsity when tryouts happen next month.

"Thanks, Granddad."

"Seen your Grandpa around?"

Clint's body might not be the finely honed weapon it once was, but his eyesight is still perfect, and he catches the worried frown that flits over the boy's face.

"Not in a while," Toby says, shifting the basketball from one hand to the other. "Maybe he went for a walk? Should we go look for him?"

Clint sighs, knowing his grandson is imagining him falling and lying helpless in the street somewhere. Nobody ever looks up, no matter how many times he's tried to teach them.

Phil smiles reassuringly. "Pretty sure I know where he is. Why don't you go wash up, see if they need any help in the kitchen? I'll go round him up, and we'll be in soon."

"'kay."

The screen door shrieks again as Phil crosses the yard, and Clint leans back, waiting.

Soon, there is the sound of someone carefully climbing the rope ladder up to the treehouse, and Clint bites his lip. It's slow, so much slower than it used to be, and Clint has to forcibly stop himself from offering help, or just reaching a hand down to help haul Phil up.

"I can hear you worrying from here," Phil calls quietly. "If you managed it without falling and breaking your neck, I'll be fine."

Clint smiles and relaxes, shifting so he's straddling the wooden bench he's been sitting on. Phil's right -- it took Clint a lot longer to ascend this morning than it had when this treehouse was first built, when their kids were young, and he and Phil used to take the rungs two at a time, rugrats clinging to them. Hell, Clint used to forego the ladder entirely sometimes, finding handholds in the bark, though he stopped that when their daughter, Sofia, was six and tried to imitate him, falling twelve feet and breaking her wrist and elbow, and thankfully nothing more.

Phil's head pops through the opening in the treehouse floor, his eyes twinkling, and Clint grins at him.

"I knew you wouldn't have a jacket on," Phil says, huffing out a laugh as Clint sticks out his tongue.

"I was waiting for you to come warm me up," Clint tells him, waggling his eyebrows salaciously, and Phil rolls his eyes.

"Sex in the treehouse is not as fun as it sounds, remember?" he says, and Clint winces at the memory of splinters in very unpleasant places.

Fully in the treehouse now, Phil hands Clint his jacket, and Clint takes it and then snags Phil's wrist before he can move away. He pulls his jacket on as Phil carefully steps over the bench, one hand on Clint's shoulder for balance, until he's straddling it too. He sits, wrapping his arms around Clint and scooting closer, until he is snug against Clint's back, Clint's ass cradled into Phil's still strong thighs.

Clint sighs happily and wriggles just a tiny bit closer. "Reminds me of having you on the back of my bike, that first time," he says with a grin. "Hey, maybe I should get -- "

"No," Phil says evenly.

It's been at least a decade since Clint had any real desire for a motorcycle, but he pouts anyway, for form's sake.

Phil chuckles and rests his chin on Clint's shoulder, nipping lightly at Clint's earlobe, and Clint shivers. The brush of Phil's hair against Clint's temple is whisper light -- Phil has gone from brown to silver to white, and he keeps what's left of his hair shorn close to his head for easy maintenance. Clint would never say so, but he misses the way Phil used to look when he first woke up, his hair fluffed up like a dandelion, soft and fine as the down on a baby duck.

"Did you get a lot of reading done?" Clint asks teasingly; _I'm going to do a little reading_ has long been family code for taking a quick nap.

Phil bites his ear again, and Clint laughs even as he trembles.

"Very productive," Phil says blandly. "How 'bout you? Your quiet time up high restful?"

Clint loves his family, more than anything, loves being surrounded by them, hearing their voices, seeing their laughter. But with their four kids, a gaggle of grandkids, and the friends that are always encouraged to come along with them, Clint sometimes needs a moment of quiet, and when he does, the urge to get somewhere high still beckons. It's why he makes sure the treehouse is always perfectly maintained, even if he doesn't do the maintenance himself anymore.

He ducks his head, a vague sense of shame for needing to get away curling low in his gut, but Phil's arms tighten around him, his husband -- as always -- so perceptive of his moods.

"They can be a bit much, can't they?" Phil murmurs, and Clint smiles and leans back in Phil's arms, realizing that Phil's nap was more of an opportunity for a moment of calm than it was spurred by a need to rest.

They both go quiet, enjoying the moment. Clouds scud across the faded blue sky, and the view of their tranquil neighborhood is unparalleled at this height. Wind rustles the leaves overhead, and Clint breathes deeply, Phil's heartbeat strong against his back, his arms firm around Clint's middle, his thighs warm along Clint's own.

"We should go down soon," Phil says after a while. "You know they'll worry."

The sound of the leaves above them changes slightly, and Clint watches as dark spots start to appear on the wood railing a few feet away, the fat drops of a sudden cloudburst. He and Phil are protected by the thick foliage over their heads, a little bubble of serenity amidst the surprise shower.

"Can't go now," Clint says with a grin. "'s raining. The ladder will be slippery. We could fall and break a hip."

Phil smiles against his cheek and then turns his head and presses his lips to Clint's weathered skin in a soft kiss.

"Guess we'll have to keep ourselves occupied up here somehow," he whispers, and then Clint is smiling against Phil's lips.

Phil's arms have been Clint's home for far longer than even this house has been, but being wrapped in his arms and lost in his kiss, surrounded by the sounds of a summer storm, the smell of rain thick in the air?

That is pure happiness.

**END**


End file.
